Dear To Me
by LightWight
Summary: His father had always warned him of the Circle of Magi. But to protect all that he cherishes, Hawke has no choice but to be a bird in a cage. He never expected the other birds to become friends. Or that he would follow one on a questionable adventure. AU ON HOLD FOR THOROUGH REVISION!
1. Captivity

**Disclaimer for all following chapters**: I don't own the world or characters of Dragon Age, the rightful creator is Bioware.

_The first five chapters have been revised - there are no major changes but I did find several mistakes and hopefully removed most of them._

* * *

><p>When the very top of the tower could be seen above the tree tops, Hawke baulked instinctively. He gritted his teeth, refusing to gasp as the bruising grip of steel gauntlets on his arms tightened.<p>

"Get a move on," one of the templars snapped, tugging so harshly Hawke was certain that the skin was torn open. Silently, he began to walk again but his eyes remained on the tower.

The Circle of Magi. This was the place his father had warned of more times that he'd cared to count, the place that fuelled his sibling's nightmares as well as his own. As goose bumps rose on his back and arms, Hawke forced himself to place one foot in front of the other, looking down at the ground with a frowning kind of concentration.

The shackles around his wrists chafed and his feet ached but he didn't utter a sound as they drew steadily nearer to Kinloch Hold. Every instinct told him to stop and incapacitate the two templars with a quick shot of strong lighting but his rational side shook its head at this idea. He wasn't here because he'd been unable to defend himself, after all.

More and more of the tower appeared before them as they left the dense forest, until he could see all of it. It was huge, built on an island in the middle of Lake Calenhad and looking the part of a prison where no-one could escape. His mouth grew dry as if he'd just eaten a handful of dirt and his breath quickened. Refusing to give up his stoic demeanour, Hawke lowered his eyes once again.

Down a hill they went and then they came to a halt in front of a short jetty. A tall, well-built man awaited them, staring at him with suspicion.

"That him, aye?"

The templar to his right nodded curtly. "Get us across, Kester."

"Alright then." Kester ushered them into the small boat. The ride across the lake took much longer than Hawke had expected and already halfway through he was sick of the incessant rocking. The massive building towering over his head didn't help his nausea and for the first time since the templars had caught him, he felt something akin to real fear. His life of freedom would end here. Possibly, life would even end here permanently.

Somehow, Hawke was less afraid of dying than he was of surviving.

No word was spoken on the ferry until it suddenly came to a rough stop right in front of the steps that led right up to the entrance.

"Up," the templar on his left told him gruffly, forcing him to his feet at the same time. Hawke bit his tongue and a quick glance at his arm showed that even the flesh just around the steel gauntlet was already a mottled purplish red colour.

They yanked him out of the boat and practically dragged him up the stairs because they didn't give him the opportunity to regain his step. Hawke stayed quiet except for the odd hiss that escaped his clenched jaw.

His heart beat frantically, hammering against his ribs with wild abandon.

_Think of father_, Hawke told himself firmly, _think of Bethany. You don't run. You won't run._

He repeated it over and over in his head, clung to it like a drowning man would to a piece of driftwood as his guards pushed open the massive double wing door and jerked him inside with one powerful yank.

The doors shut behind him with a final sound and Hawke had trouble breathing as he found himself surrounded by oppressive stone walls.

No windows.

There were no windows. Not one.

Oh Maker.

Oh _Maker_.

The templars pulled him forward and he dug his heels into the ground, fighting them with nails and teeth for the very first time since they'd found him.

"Now it's a bit too late, apostate," one of his captors sneered while the other snorted, "Be a good little mage."

Hawke snarled at being talked down to like that but the sound was soon replaced by a gasp as they forced him forwards. His arms felt like they'd been torn apart and the templars took advantage of his short moment of limp shock.

Through another door, down a curved hallway. Every single door was closed and there was _just not enough space_. Hawke pressed his eyes closed, trying to breathe through the lump that had formed deep in his chest and finding himself failing miserably.

_Oh Maker. Get a grip, calm down. Think of Bethany and father. Calm down._

A set of stairs, another door, straight ahead, another set of stairs, another door. By the time they went along another curved hallway, Hawke could breathe again but he let his eyes stay closed. He would just have another panic attack if he opened them.

They walked for what seemed to be eternity until, finally, the templars stopped abruptly and Hawke opened his eyes cautiously. His heart still beat wildly but he felt calmer, more rational and – more importantly – he knew that he looked like the epitome of indifference. Appearance was everything and behind his mask he felt safe, protected.

One of the bucket heads raised his fist and with a dull THUMP steel connected with wood.

Not two seconds later a gravelly voice bade them to "Enter!"  
>The chamber was dimly lit, the only source of light being a sort of blue-glowing pool in the very middle of the room – lyrium, Hawke recognised at once – and a few candle holders on the walls.<p>

"And so this is the apostate. I take it you did not find traces of maleficarum on him."

Hawke swivelled his head, taking in the people present in a few seconds.

The man who had just spoken was doubtlessly authority in templar armour. The Knight-Commander, then. Next to him stood a wizened mage, dressed in circle robes and carrying a staff on his back. Probably the First Enchanter. Behind them stood a dozen templars and he was certain that their eyes were on him, trying to take him apart through looks alone.

"We did not, Knight-Commander," confirmed one of his guards and was about to elaborate when the First Enchanter interrupted.

"Let go of the poor lad, Ser Orrin, Ser Derry."

His voice was old and rough from age but his tone was sharp enough that the two templars finally let go of his arms. He resisted the urge to wince as blood rushed through the abused flesh at an alarming rate, making it hurt even more.

"We didn't find any evidence towards maleficarum, Knight-Commander."

"Very well. We will have to ensure the Circle's integrity nonetheless. Get the lyrium ready!"

Hawke's eyes snapped up and he didn't even flinch when he met the Commanders hard stare.

The First Enchanter piped up once again. "All our apprentices have years to master their abilities, Greagoir."

Greagoir glared at the mage. "We can't afford to give the apostate that time, as you well know, Irving. I shudder to think about what he could've picked up or consorted with in his lifetime of freedom!"

Hawke narrowed his eyes but remained silent. No need to speak up unless he was asked to do so and he wasn't about to get cheeky with the man who could just announce him maleficarum, true or not.

The smell of lyrium grew overwhelming and Hawke found himself being once again dragged, this time to the pool of lyrium.

"Pass this test and I promise that you will be safe, lad," he heard Irving's voice behind him, "Put your hand into the lyrium."

Hawke did as he was told, albeit slowly, and then there was a blinding flash and consuming darkness.

_-DEAR TO ME-_

The sight he woke up to was a very familiar one. Brown, fuzzy and shapeless, the unformed Fade surrounded him. He rose slowly, instinctively readying his magic, feeling the cold encase his fingers. At the moment he seemed to be alone but Hawke was the last one to relax now. The Fade was arbitrary, ever-changing and as such a highly dangerous place for naïve souls.

The trick was to know that nothing stayed the same and that everything could morph into something else on a moment's notice.

Just then he felt a whisper on his skin that raised the fine hair on his neck and triggered his inner alarm. A presence had appeared behind him, just a few metres away.

_Demon_.

"Uh, hello there! Could-"

But before the disguised Fade-creature could finish its request, Hawke spun around, magic dashing from his fingertips and encasing the demon in solid ice. Not a second later, the figure shattered into thousand pieces without Hawke's doing. He raised his eyebrows, blinked-

-and found himself back in the chamber when he opened his eyes again. Disbelieving, slack-jawed faces awaited him and most of the templars drew their weapons. Disconcerting. Hawke expected that he had been quite quick.

"Easy as pie" he finally said, hating how his voice rasped over the voice cords, rough from the lack of usage over the last week. Silence met his cocky exclamation until Greagoir spoke up.

"He is not possessed. Stay your weapons."

Irving contemplated him with a little glint in his eye, a hand stroking his rather impressive beard.

"Well done, lad. We will take our leave then, Greagoir. As you can see, he's perfectly capable of handling himself."

Greagoir, though unwilling, had no reason to refuse. "Ser Orrin will accompany you. Watch yourself, Irving. He's still an apostate."

When they left the chamber this time, there were no eager templar-volunteers to grab him and Hawke was silently grateful.

They went down two tiers, Ser Orrin clanking behind them, until Irving stopped in front of another door and turned around, giving the templar a grandfatherly smile.

"Thank you, Ser Orrin. I am quite sure that this is far enough for you."

He ushered Hawke into what looked like a study. Not for one second did Hawke turn his back on them.

Ser Orrin frowned. "The Knight-Commander told me to accompany you, First Enchanter."

"I'm in no way deaf, Ser Orrin. Surely you have more important duties than standing around in an old man's study, listening to mages talking."

The templar looked ready to force his way into the room but then seemed to think better of it.

"You're right, First Enchanter."

Irving's smile grew and he said kindly "As I expected. A good day to you, Ser Orrin." and shut the door.

Hawke watched the old man warily, standing in the middle of the generous study. The sheer number of the books in here amazed him and he had an itch to touch them. Books had been a rare luxury for his family because they were heavy and unhandy in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Everything he'd been taught about magic, he'd learned from his father.

"Take a seat, lad."

He waited until the other had taken his seat before he followed the order. The knowing light in Irving's eyes told him that the mage had noticed.

For a few seconds there was silence as they assessed each other. Then Irving smiled.

"What's your name, lad?"

A muscle in Hawke's jaw twitched. His father had been in the Circle _somewhere_ (though he had always refused to tell them specifics) and he didn't want to use his surname as such. The Amell family was nobility in Kirkwall, doubtlessly unknown.

"Hawke Amell."

He experienced a sinking sensation as Irving's eyebrows rose spectacularly high.

"Amell? Do you happen to be related to Esanne Amell?"

Those bushy brows formed a frown when Hawke only shrugged. "I see. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Do you have any family, Hawke?"

He blinked. "No."

"You practiced your magic on your own?"

"For the most part."

Irving sat back, those old eyes never leaving his face. Hawke was careful to keep his expression carelessly blank. _No lie you can find, First Enchanter._

A long, tension-filled pause later, Irving relaxed. "That is very impressive. I will allow myself to say that this Harrowing was the quickest I've ever seen."

There was cautious respect in his voice and it was so novel that Hawke was actually taken aback. Sure that some of his surprise had slipped past the mask, he covered it up.

"Harrowing?"

"It's a test that every apprentice of any Circle must undertake. A ritual to show that they are willing and able to benefit their Circle, if you so will. Only those who are considered too dangerous or too weak in mind won't be given the chance to prove themselves." Irving rummaged around his desk, taking what seemed to be a form.

"You passed the Harrowing," the Enchanter began to fill out the blanks in the form "so regardless of your former existence as an apostate, you are now a mage of this Circle. Treat the templars with respect and you will be given it in return."

Hawke felt like puking. A mage of this Circle. _Oh, Maker._

Irving continued, oblivious to his state of mind. "Doubtlessly Ser Orrin will be waiting for you outside. He will lead you to your living area. You will receive your robes tomorrow morning but I'm afraid that you will have to wait a few days for your staff. Greagoir is not yet convinced of your relative harmlessness."

_Clever man_.

The First Enchanter looked up, meeting Hawke's gaze head-on.

"Good night, lad."


	2. The Maze

Hawke lay still, staring up into the inky darkness that was the ceiling. To hear the occasional deep breath of one of his "roommates" was disconcerting to say the least. It really shouldn't be: After all, he'd shared a room with Bethany and Carver since they had been born ten years ago. But these were total strangers and he was separated from them by a mere wall.

Sitting up and tossing his feet over the edge of the admittedly quite comfortable bed, Hawke stretched his arms above his head, winced and sent a dose of healing magic to the dark purple bruises on his upper arms. _Damn those bucket heads._

The chilly air cooled his heated skin and aching head. Now, in the veil of night, he was but a little boy, frightened by the demons under his bed and wishing desperately that his parents were near. He snorted self-deprecatingly.

Just then the double doors swung open with a loud creak and then there were noisy footsteps. Templars. Hawke couldn't see them because of the walls surrounding his little 'private area' but he sat very still, not daring to breathe.

"On the bed."

"Scum doesn't deserve the bed."

A little, muffled sound.

"I don't understand why the Knight-Commander doesn't just kill him."

"Not our decision to make, my friend."

They left the room, muttering to one another. Hawke let out a breath and stood. His bare feet met the cold floor and he took a few steps forward, to the entrance of his 'room'. His long years of hunting at night had made it easier for him to see things in the dark but even he would have been lost if not for the few candles in the hallway.

He came to a stop in front of the neighbouring room. A limp form lay on the bed, head bent at an angle that was sure to give him an ache later on. But his chest rose and fell and that was good enough for Hawke. He padded back to his bed, lying down again. He hoped that sleep would be coming soon. He didn't like the thought of lying awake and thinking about everything he'd saved by losing it. Because he really wasn't that kind of person and he didn't intend to change now.

_-DEAR TO ME-_

Somehow the room was brighter when Hawke woke up after a few hours' worth of sleep. Puzzling, considering that there was not a single window. It was silent; no people were bustling around or talking. He stood up slowly, raking one hand through his loose hair and stretched, wincing as his shoulder popped once.

Then he took a long look around. Last night it had already been dark when the templar had brought him in here; there hadn't been time for detailed examinations.

The little space was filled with a rather big bed, a closet, a mirror and a bowl of water for hygienic purposes. He made use of the latter at once, splashing his face with the cold wet and leaving his eyes closed for a few seconds afterward. He felt like a caged bird, struggling, trying desperately to unfold his wings but the bars wouldn't permit his feathers. He rubbed his face dry firmly with the cloth lying next to the bowl.

_For father. For Bethany. You don't run. You won't run._

He straightened and glanced at himself in the mirror.

His hair was a tumble of waves that passed his shoulder blades, the dark, nearly black colour a courtesy of his mother. The aristocratic, arrow-straight nose and high, defined cheekbones were his mother's also, while the strong jaw and those intense, turquoise eyes were his father's.

Hawke had no doubt that the healthy, dark tan he'd acquired over the years would vanish quicker than one could say "No sun", as would the muscles he'd developed while working on the farm with his father and practicing with a hunting bow.

The doors opened.

Turning on his heels, he glanced at the surprised face of an elderly woman.

Hawke looked her over. She was clad in a red Circle robe, her staff bound on her back, a bundle under her arm. Her face was slightly crinkled but she still looked rather young, despite the grey-streaked hair. Her blue eyes offered him a smile and he relaxed almost subconsciously. And promptly tensed up again. _She's dangerous._

"You're already up. Good. I'm Wynne and I'll be showing you around the tower. Your name is Hawke, yes?"

"Yes," he confirmed. Wynne smiled kindly and gave him the bundle.

"Your mage robes. I'll be waiting outside for you."

Hawke stayed still until he heard the door fall shut before looking at the clothes provided. They were partly yellow, partly grey and black and he wasn't very thrilled at the prospect of wearing a dress.

Sighing, Hawke stripped out of his oversized clothing – it had belonged to his father – and put on his new attire. It was uncomfortable and his only solace was the fact that every mage had to wear one of these embarrassing things. Hawke snagged the leather strap he'd pulled out of his hair the last night and bound his hair again.

It turned out that navigating the tower would prove to be very difficult. There were very few landmarks and each tier looked the same to his eyes. The mages they passed stared at him with wide, sometimes suspicious eyes. He stared right back until they looked away – and they all did.

Wynne was quite pleasant company, not asking too many questions and seemingly content with the silence that reigned between them save for the few words of explanation she gave him from time to time.

"We are constantly watched by the templars," she said as they passed through the extensive library that awed Hawke immensely. "But sooner or later you won't notice anymore and it will be as natural as breathing."

Somehow he seriously doubted that.

They stopped to watch two mages, apparently teacher and student, as they tried to perform a ward that would shield the user from harm. The student failed terribly and shrieked as the spark of lighting his teacher had sent hit its target.

Hawke felt his lips twitch and looked away quickly, not saying a word. Wynne led them on.

"When do apprentices usually get to attempt their Harrowing?" Hawke finally asked as they ascended the stairs to the last tier – the chambers of the apprentices.

Wynne sent him a surprised glance and he didn't fault her: He hadn't said a single word since he'd exited his room.

"It varies from apprentice to apprentice. Most of them get called at the age of nineteen or twenty, though, it is rare to witness someone significantly younger go through it." Wynne led them through a door, right into what seemed to be a large, shared bedroom. About a hundred bunk beds were squeezed together tightly, leaving open spaces in between that were just broad enough to walk through.

Due to the early hour, most of the beds were still occupied and the few apprentices that were awake greeted them politely, gracing him with a curious glance only and continuing on their way.

The Tranquil gave Hawke the creeps. With their soulless eyes and monotone voice, they asked Wynne if she needed something from the stockroom. Though he was most unwilling to show weakness to any Circle mage, Hawke couldn't help but shy away from them. Wynne noticed and ushered him away quickly.

"You are in no danger of being made Tranquil, Hawke," she told him later with a reassuring pat on the shoulder – which caused him to take a step away from her – and a sympathetic smile. "Not even the templars have the right to Tranquil a mage who has gone through the Harrowing."

_How reassuring_.

"And now off to breakfast. You must be starving."

Hawke didn't feel like he could stomach any kind of food but he didn't say anything and simply followed the woman as she led the way to the dining hall.

Surprisingly, many mages were already seated, most of them talking to one another while eating. Hawke counted ten templars watching the goings-on warily.

"This is the table where the mages eat who have gone through their Harrowing but haven't begun teaching yet." Wynne came to a stop in front of a sparsely occupied table in the very middle of the room and gestured to a seat. "Make yourself comfortable. I expect that you will find your way around afterwards?"

Hawke nodded, keeping his face blank. Of course he wouldn't find his way around. Maker, this place was a maze!

Wynne seemed convinced and smiled once again. "I'm sure I will see you around, Hawke."

And with that, she went to sit at a table on the other side of the hall. Hawke turned away. The table moaned under the enormous weight of the dishes. There was porridge, broth, soups, fruit salads, various kinds of cheese, bread and meat and several carafes filled with water, milk and tea – none of it quickened his appetite.

The others seated at the table did their best to avoid looking at him. Suddenly they were all very deeply involved in their food or conversations. He didn't mind, pouring himself some tea, sipping carefully and grimacing slightly at the stale taste.

He didn't linger in the hall for too long. Seeing that a steady trickle of mages both left and entered the room, he soon deemed it safe enough and slipped out into the hallway.

Hawke decided to simply wander around until he miraculously found some piece of wall or carpet he recognised. Snorting to himself, he set off.

Somewhere, the giggles and screams of children having fun erupted, startling him somewhat. The sound seemed awfully out of place around the sombre-faced mages and rather oppressive atmosphere. It reminded him of Bethany. Without really meaning to, he smiled wanly.

Bethany who could always find something beautiful and worth laughing about in any situation.

Maker, he missed her already.

And like that, the smile was gone.

He took the next flight of stairs upwards. The cheerful laughter came nearer and nearer but this time Hawke grew ever more moody. So when he rounded the corner into another hallway and someone smacked right into his middle, he barked: "Watch it!" and cursed himself for the slip-up almost immediately when several eyes landed on him.

Looking down, he stared into achingly familiar light-grey eyes. _Mother._

But these eyes belonged to a small, doll-like girl who was apologising profusely with an alarmed look on her face. And who had, as he noticed when he looked closer, the exact same Amell-nose, Amell-eye shape and Amell-curls he had and the pouting lips his mother and sister had shared. There was no doubt that she was a relative of his.

Her companion stood a few feet behind, watching the scene warily.

"It's alright," Hawke interrupted her incessant chant of 'I'm so sorry'. "No harm done. Just watch where you're going, mite."

The girl was visibly puffed up, her apologetic demeanour instantly changing into indignation. "I'll have you know that I'm twelve!"

Hawke blinked, smoothing his face back into a carefully blank expression lest she detect his amusement. From experience he knew that little girls absolutely hated jokes made at their expense.

"Of course, mite."

Now she just pouted. And then, faster than he could raise an eyebrow, her mood did an about face once again.

"I haven't seen you around here before, ser. I'm Esanne Amell, pleased to meet you!" His cousin offered him her hand and this time when he shook it, he didn't hide his amusement. He hadn't expected her formal language.

"They brought me in just yesterday," he was proud to notice that he sounded rather indifferent. And as he found no harm in telling her that he was family, he added "Hawke Amell."

Her reaction was slightly louder than his had been and it didn't lessen her shock and enthusiasm when he told her that _no_, he was _not_ her brother and he had never met her side of the family. Which was true.

Esanne seemed to remember her hitherto silent companion only when the boy cleared his throat quietly. She dragged the boy forwards with a big smile on her face. "Oh yeah, this is Jowan."

Shy Jowan didn't meet his eyes and mumbled something incomprehensible before blushing right to the roots. The corners of Hawke's mouth twitched but he refused to actually smile.

"Greetings," he simply replied.

Esanne did her best to convince him of joining them at breakfast but he declined quite clearly. Already he knew that that hall would be one of his least favourite places, what with the many templars in there, and as effective as his cousin's puppy eyes could no doubt be on lesser men, he didn't cave in.

So she retreated with Jowan, slightly disappointed but content with the promise of following conversations.

Hawke sighed and continued his mindless stroll. She reminded him so much of Bethany that it almost physically hurt. If he'd been the type to brood over everything he'd lost, he was sure that now would have been the time where he would have looked for a silent, preferably dimly lit room to sit and grieve.

As it was, he banned thoughts of his family from his mind and was pleasantly surprised and confused in equal measure when he found himself in the library. In here it was easier to ignore their overseers and he browsed through the countless shelves until he found the section he was most interested in.

_Schools of Energy: Spirit and Primal_.


	3. Relations

Days went by and Hawke still had trouble getting to sleep each night. It wasn't as if his mind wasn't ready to succumb, quite the opposite really. He sat in the library day in, day out, bent over thick, dusty tomes and studied the Fade and its powers. He did it because what was there else to do? Already through his Harrowing, he had discovered that most mages could do whatever they pleased, as long as it was supervised by templars. For now, Hawke was pleased that he could read up on his interests. Nearly constantly on the run, his father had only taught him the basics about how the Fade functioned – and only because Hawke showed an unusual affinity for the realm of dreams. He was quite sure that Bethany had never been told anything about it besides how to recognise demons.

So it wasn't his mind that was the problem; it was his body. There was no physical effort whatsoever involved in anything going on in the tower. Reading certainly didn't exhaust his muscles and Hawke longed for a good run, for a bow in his hands and a deer in his vision.

That night, however, what he wished for most of all was for any other neighbour. Preferably one who didn't enjoy their fellow mages every night or at least one who with a little more subtlety.

As the woman moaned yet again, right into the sound of skin slapping against skin, Hawke blew up his cheeks and let the air escape in a none-too-quiet, annoyed sigh.

It wasn't jealousy that made him irate about it. If he wanted to, he knew he could have his own "adventures" easily enough, judging by the looks of young females around him.

Eventually, _finally_, the sounds of sex died down and there was hushed speaking, the rustling of clothes, footsteps, a door that was opened and closed as quietly as possible.

_And there she goes._

It was in the early hours of morning that Hawke finally fell asleep.

_-DEAR TO ME-_

"I've heard many things about you, you know. It's impressive how fast the gossip travels around here."

Hawke looked up from his usual cup of tea just as another mage sat down across from him. Hawke could say with certainty that he hadn't seen the other around in the time that he'd been here. Hair a blonde colour that couldn't quite decide whether it was just dark blonde or a very light brown, long enough to be caught in a little ponytail at the back the head, quite handsome face and brown eyes that Hawke was certain many a girl had swooned over. Seemingly indifferent to getting evaluated in return, Hawke didn't take his eyes from the other's face and took a sip of tea.

"Oh? What do they say?"

A smirk appeared on the blonde's face, though it was good-natured. "You don't know? I thought that by now even the Grand Cleric would have heard of great Hawke Amell, champion of the Harrowing."

The line was delivered with enough sarcastic adoration that Hawke found himself smirking in return.

"I'm no social butterfly," shrugging, Hawke watched as the other dug into a bowl of porridge with great appetite, "But do elaborate. This sounds fascinating."

"Apparently his Harrowing was over before it even began. According to reliable sources present during the whole thing, he put his hand into the lyrium and withdrew it only seconds later, cool as you please."

Those eyes met his once again and then the man offered him his hand.

"You may call me Anders, reluctant mage of the Circle and master-escapee."

Hawke let go of Anders' hand after one squeeze and quirked an eyebrow.

"Curious. I would think that a master-escapee wouldn't be around his prison while calling himself that."

"Well, I might not have succeeded in actually _staying_ away," Anders admitted grudgingly. "But at least I've got the hang of the whole 'getting-away' thing."

Hawke snorted, amused by the other man's antics.

For a few minutes, they sat in oddly comfortable silence, continuing their breakfast.

"So what about your family, Hawke?"

It was an innocuous enough question but Hawke stiffened nonetheless. He was aware that Anders noticed at once.

_Blast._

Although it was already too late, he loosened his muscles and leaned back in his chair, glancing at the other fleetingly.

"What about them?"

Anders laid down his spoon and interlaced his fingers. There was a small frown on his face as he regarded Hawke cautiously. "No need to get defensive, my friend. I simply asked if they know what's happened to you… if they care." In the beginning the mage had asked that, sure. But the glint in those eyes told Hawke that the other was onto him now. _So much for trying to stay low. Brilliantly done._

"My apologies," he said finally, "Family's a touchy subject."

That did the trick. Anders backed off immediately, his sharp eyes softening into a kind of bitter understanding and apology.

"As it is for most of us. I didn't mean to pry, I'm sorry."

Hawke waved it aside, effectively dropping the subject.

When he left the Great Hall this time, Anders kept him company and somehow, despite his reluctance to encourage any kind of relationship with the Circle mages, Hawke found it easy to talk to him.

"So do they mention my stunning good looks in those rumours of yours?"

Anders sent him an amused glance. "They aren't quite that far yet, sadly."

"You just talked to me and hoped that you got the right guy?"

They swerved out of the way to let a group of enchanters pass by, arms heavy with countless spell tomes and pergament rolls. Anders snorted, picking up the pace a little to catch up.

"I've lived in this blighted place since I was twelve, so I know most of the people worth knowing. Also, you stand out. You, and I say that with the utmost admiration, just look like an apostate."

Hawke quirked an eyebrow. "Why, thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

The templars they passed sent them a withering glance and they just stared right back, though Hawke noticed that most of the venom in their looks was directed at his companion. "They hate you."

Anders made a strangled little sound between a snort, a sigh and a derisive laugh. "Completely mutual, I assure you. I've escaped the tower three times now and they think that I'm a blood mage but until they find evidence they can't do anything and it drives them mad."

They passed a few chatting, giggling apprentices. Hawke spared them no mind – but Anders certainly did. Hawke came to a stop next to him and one of the girls smiled at him enticingly, seemingly unconcerned that he didn't return the gesture.

After a few minutes in which it became obvious that Anders didn't plan to move on very soon, Hawke left without another word.

_-DEAR TO ME-_

It turned out that he wasn't the only one fascinated by the intricacies of the Fade and the complex involvement in each mage's power.

Her name was Neria Surana and she was as compelling as she was intelligent. Which was to say: very. When he'd first laid eyes on her messy, auburn spikes, tanned skin colour and big, expressive hazel eyes, she just wanted to know if he was planning to "hog" the "only worthwhile book" in the library "some more".

In the end, they both had their noses stuck into the thick tome, discussing the endless possibilities and problems of the Fade in hushed, passionate voices.

The templars sent them sharp, suspicious glances but left them alone. Weeks went by and Neria sought him out quite often.

"So it would be possible to weave a ward with primal energy, yes?" Her big eyes stared at him intently, looking for approval. Hawke scratched his chin, mulling the idea over.

"Theoretically that's true. But it would require a very powerful mage. One that could weave the Fade, interlace primal energy and keep it up without a breach of concentration. It would be fatal if one lost focus."

"True. If successful the result would be outstanding, though. Think about it, Hawke: Constructing a ward that sets off its elemental power if someone crosses through it."

Hawke considered her silently for a few moments, then turned his gaze on the page that had brought Neria's idea on. "It's a fascinating concept. Especially if one succeeds in powering the ward through the Fade instead of just using it as a frame to work around."

They sat in silence, not breaking eye contact and pondering the idea carefully.

Eventually, Neria smiled brightly. "Maker knows it's not as if we hadn't enough time on our hands."

Hawke leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head, eyes darting over the templars he could see from his position at the hearth. "I'm guessing we'll have to be very subtle about it."

Neria's face hardened and there was a harsh light in her eyes. Her hate for the templars was greater than his was but Hawke didn't know the reason for it and wouldn't pry.

"Fade studies have often been mixed up with blood magic in the past." Neria turned a page over. "Fools."

Wisely he said nothing on the subject and Neria dropped it with a sigh.

"It's nearly time for dinner. We should get going."

Hawke shrugged apologetically as she got up. "Anders wanted to meet up here."

Since the other mage had found out that Hawke knew absolutely nothing about Healing, Anders had made it his mission to teach him. It was pointless, as Hawke had yet to show any talent for it at all but Anders didn't give up.

He didn't mind either way: He'd never say it out loud but he enjoyed the company of the chatty cat-lover. And love cats Anders did. The time Hawke found out about it, the healer had already dumped two of those beasts in his lap and began cooing ridiculously. Hawke had _not_ been amused about his lap full of fur. He had never liked cats and the feeling was mutual. The whole thing ended with scratches in his face and on his hands and an entirely too amused Anders who wasn't all that amused anymore when he found out about Hawke's complete inability to heal.

Neria smirked knowingly. "Oh, _right_. Well, have fun studying absolute basics, Hawke."

With just a tired wave he bade her farewell.

Sinking deeper in the plush chair, Hawke closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth of the fire. Despite the comfortable and sleepy state he was in, he would never fall asleep here. Templar eyes bored into him and made him want to fidget.

His father had taught Bethany and him to be wary of them, to respect their powers but as time went by and he was locked up, constantly under templar supervision, he felt himself slowly adopting the resentful feelings most of the mages felt towards their guards. Not that being near Anders and Neria helped, seeing as neither one was particularly quiet about their opinions. During a conversation with Esanne and Jowan a few days before, Hawke had found out about the fraternities in the Circle and he had to say: Except for the Libertarians, none appealed to him. If Esanne could be believed, Uldred – head of that fraternity – was a very unpleasant fellow but close to Irving nonetheless.

"Sorry for the wait. I... got ambushed."

He opened his eyes lazily as Anders flopped down into Neria's abandoned chair. The healer chuckled. "You know, for all your hate of cats, you're remarkably like one."

Hawke cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "You take that back." Then- "Ambushed?"

"Life's short, my friend," Anders had the decency to look embarrassed, "So when opportunity provides itself, one should take it, yes?"

Hawke couldn't help the slight grimace as he thought back to the sleepless nights he'd endured, caused by the other's 'opportunities' – because _yes_, Anders turned out to be the very neighbour who had company every night. Male or female.

"If you keep it down tonight because of that, then do whatever you like," he replied gravely and smirked when Anders blushed. "I told you I was sorry."

"Sure. But I haven't seen pigs fly yet."

"You're such a sweet thing, Hawke."

Just ten minutes into the lesson, Anders sighed, thoroughly exasperated.

"Andraste's tits, you're acting like a simple healing charm is harder than any offensive spell."

"That's because it is," Hawke felt like whining but decided against that level of immaturity. Anders snorted, pulling the still open book about Warding closer. After a moment of pondering the page, the blonde mage shook his head exasperatedly. "Look at you, getting through the Harrowing in a matter of seconds, debating about things with Neria that I barely even understand the theory of and not even close to getting a small, easy healing spell right."

Hawke chuckled at how ludicrous it sounded. "What can I say, Creation is my weak point."

A cat padded nearer and jumped into Anders' lap without so much as a greeting 'meow'. "Oh, poor Mr Wiggums," Anders cooed, immediately distracted, "You look awfully thin, you fine mouser."

Hawke identified 'Mr Wiggums' as one of the pair of cats that had whetted its claws on his face those faithful days before and recoiled slightly.

"Keep that beast on yourself, Anders," he warned. Anders pretended to not have heard him.

Mr Wiggums fixated its yellow eyes on Hawke and hissed at him. Hawke had a good mind to hiss back but opted for giving the tomcat the evil eye instead.

"No, no, no, Mr Wiggums, stupid Hawke won't hurt you today," Anders petted the animal lovingly.

"Oh I don't know," Hawke said loudly and without thinking, "It's been ages since I've had cat ragout."

And with that he stood up, fully aware of Anders staring at him, gathered the tome and stalked past the pair, wondering what the hell had gotten him to slowly but surely letting his true colours show.

* * *

><p><strong>Next chapter will probably start with a scene that requires the 'M' rating. Also, there'll be a time skip of three years.<strong>


	4. Experiments

**[...]**

**And from it made his firstborn.  
>And he said to them:<br>In My image I forge you,  
>To you I give dominion<br>Over all that exists.  
>By your will<br>May all things be done.**

**[…]**

_Canticle of Threnodies 5_

Neria's fingers gripped his hair tightly, her moans and whimpers swallowed by their heated, urgent kiss. Hawke adjusted her legs on his hips, setting them higher and thrusting at the new angle, sliding deeper than before. She arched against him, biting on his lower lip, pressing her breasts against his clothed chest as he picked up the pace.

They didn't have time for anything longer than a quick tryst in a dark corner, hurried and hushed.

He pounded into her, feeling her grow steadily tighter. Release was so very close. Hawke freed a hand, gripping her hastily exposed breast and broke their kiss without warning. Neria's breath hitched dangerously as his lips closed around the nipple. A moment later she shattered around him, taking him with her.

For one moment both remained still, chests heaving, relishing the pleasurable buzz, but they couldn't afford to linger.

Hawke set her down onto her own feet and glanced around surreptitiously while straightening his underwear and robes. The hallway was still abandoned, thank the Maker. "I'll see you later."

Neria winked and without another word they parted ways.

Many things had changed in the few years Hawke had been in the tower. If someone said that the Circle was a steady, stiff environment, they lied. The dynamic of the fraternities had shifted quite often in three years and now the Libertarians counted a number almost as big as the Aequitarians. As a consequence, templar supervision was harsher than ever before which resulted in even more resentment from the Libertarians. All in all the circle was an explosive powder keg and Hawke wasn't entirely sure what it would take for the keg to explode.

People like Neria and Anders, fully supportive of Uldred's fraternity, would have that disaster sooner rather than later of course.

Speaking of Anders – Hawke had found a friend in the healer, enjoyed his company and found in him the one of the few people in the Circle who could make boring times worthwhile.

That said, he wouldn't ever willingly rely on Anders for anything. A year ago the friend had disappeared without a word of goodbye, only to turn up at the doorstep three days later, held between two templar hunters. That the blonde hadn't asked him to join him didn't faze Hawke in the least. Instead he appreciated the perfectly reasonable logic: The chance of success was infinitesimal as it was, a companion brought along would hinder any progress.

The way Anders approached him as one would a skittish animal the day afterward told Hawke, however, that Anders didn't think in such reasons. Still it didn't matter.

A life on the run had taught him that reliance on or trust in something was foolish. Villagers who were perfectly sweet one day would turn on him without hesitation when they found out that he was an apostate. He couldn't rely on them to keep his secret. More importantly, he couldn't _trust_ them with his secret. It was a life lesson hard learned and it held fast even in the safe environment of the Circle. So he laughed with friends, he joked with friends, he cared about friends but he would never trust friends. Even if they were mages too – there were always secrets that demanded to be kept quiet.

"There you are!"

Hawke glanced down as Esanne latched onto his right arm, grinning up at him. At fifteen his cousin still was rather short but slowly she filled out quite nicely as the baby fat disappeared gradually. No doubt that she would be a beautiful young woman in a few years time.

"Where have you been, Hawke? I've been looking _everywhere_ for you!" She rolled her eyes theatrically and Hawke smiled down at her. "So just the library?"

"You bet." She leaned closer and gave his robes a quick sniff. A smirk appeared on her lips and she regarded him shrewdly from under her thick lashes.

"Oh I see. Had fun, yes? Did you finally confess?"

The templar they passed cleared his throat rather loudly and looked at them suspiciously. Hawke waited until they were out of hearing range, then he snorted.

"I don't love her, Esanne. I told you a million times already."

"But why would you sleep with her if you don't love her?"

Why, she asked. Why indeed. Not about to corrupt the rare innocence of his cousin, Hawke held back his laugh and didn't reply. In a few years, she would know why. Intimately.

"So did you look for me for a reason, Ann?" Esanne shrugged but there was an uneasy expression on her face. He blinked and decided to drop it.

"So where's your pet?"

Esanne stiffened. Huh. Or not. "He's not my pet and he's perfectly capable of being away from me. Glad about it actually, or so he told me."

_And there's the problem_.

Now that she'd begun, Esanne didn't wait for him to prompt her to elaborate. Maybe because she knew that he wouldn't. Personal business was... personal. Esanne's voice trembled slightly.

"Yeah, glad to be away from me 'cause I'm a teacher's pet. And Irving's favourite."

Hawke's eyebrows rose slightly. "Jowan's jealous."

Esanne huffed. "He's an arse. I don't have anything he should be jealous about."

"Talent."

She blinked at his laconic reply. "Huh?"

Hawke resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Talent," he repeated patiently, "is something that you have in abundance and he doesn't have at all."

The girl frowned disapprovingly at him, pursing her lips. "That's not a nice thing to say, Hawke," she said reproachfully, tightening her grip on his arm.

Hawke smiled lopsidedly. "Truth rarely is."

They greeted Senior Enchanter Torrin politely as he passed. None of the Enchanters had ever taught Hawke and he didn't feel obliged to show them any respect but life was so much easier when they just dismissed him as another mage.

Entering the library, Esanne jumped when the templar guarding the door spat at them both.

Hawke kept his mouth shut and led her away quickly to where Anders was most likely waiting for him.

"So that means," Esanne concluded, "We're not talking right now. And I'm... kind of lonely."

Anders was indeed sitting in one of the chairs near the hearth, book in his lap and looking up at their approach.

"So you tracked down your cousin. I see."

Hawke nodded his greeting to Anders and settled into the comfortable chair right next to him. Esanne frowned and glared at the other mage, disgruntled. She had never liked Anders, him being the rule-breaking, overly amorous, disrespectful lout that he was, breaking every ideal that she'd ever had.

Hawke leaned back, stretched out his long legs and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Be nice now, both of you," he said lazily when they shot venomous glares at each other.

Anders made a _hmph_ and closed the book. Making a point of ignoring the apprentice he said: "D'you hear, Hawke? They caught a templar with one of their charges."

"Ser Rylock," Hawke barely blinked. "I don't think I have to guess as to who was the 'charge', do I?"

Anders smirked wryly. "She deserved it. Got a reprimand and the promise that she'll be reassigned or fired if she steps out of line again."

Esanne sniffed derisively. "Only you could sink so low, Anders."

Hawke sent her a sharp look that shut her mouth and made her stare at him defiantly. "She didn't suspect anything when you came onto her?"

Anders grinned. "Who said that it was me who made the first step?" He digressed when Hawke just raised an eyebrow. "Oh well, yes. And no, she didn't."

"Most likely she'll want to flay you alive now." Hawke found it morbidly amusing and judging from Anders' unimpressed look, the other noticed.

"Once again I'm amazed at how endearing you are, my friend." But Anders smiled good-naturedly. Then his demeanour changed on a moment's notice as he turned to Esanne.

"By the way, Amell, I stopped by earlier when you had your Creation lesson. I'm sad to say that your healing spell is quite pitiable."

Esanne choked and flushed, anger making her speechless. Hawke harrumphed but unlike the girl before, Anders simply ignored his warning and instead launched himself into a debate about proper healing. As an abysmal healer at the best of times, Hawke didn't even attempt to follow their discussion.

They had given up on trying to teach Hawke how to heal half a year ago. And really, he was astonished that Anders had tried for that long when it was clear to everyone that he didn't possess even one talented cell when it came to Creation.

Soon enough Esanne stood up and with a huff and a shrill "I hate you, you dirty mongrel!" she stormed away.

Anders chuckled and leaned back. "Good riddance."  
>Hawke met his eyes and saw the grin drop as soon as the other took in his completely blank face. "That," he said, sounding completely indifferent "was uncalled for, Anders."<p>

The healer pursed his lips. "Alright, I'm sorry. It's really easy to rile her up."

Hawke stared at him a moment longer, then he averted his gaze. "That's no excuse."

"I know, I know. 'To each his own blame', right?" Anders exaggerated the phrase greatly, sounding quite derisive.

"Exactly," Hawke stood up "You know where to find me when you're in a more tolerable mood." And without looking at the other mage, he swept out of the library.

_**-DEAR TO ME –**_

"Great. Just a little less energy... perfect." Neria surveyed the small ward Hawke was conjuring critically. At the moment it was pure Fade he wove, nothing else, and as such only the brim glowed a bright blue, the rest could as well have been air to any warrior. To a mage it was a complex circuit of energy, ethereal and mesmerising.

"Is it stable?"

Hawke adjusted his mental grip on the Fade, watching the energy flow for one moment. Then he nodded, eyes never leaving the ward. "Alright. A small strand of primal energy next."

"I'm taking lightning," he informed her so that she would know what to do should he lose focus. Neria nodded seriously. "Go ahead."

Hawke closed his eyes. This part required his mental eye more than it did his physical.

It was easy for him – keeping one mental hand on the Fade construct and reaching into his very core for the primal power with the other. He'd chosen lightning because it was the one elemental form that came to him without even a thought. The difficulty was rather that he had to make sure to only use a tiny bit of elemental energy – too much too quickly could result in total chaos. Anything to do with the Fade was to be treated with much care – he was quite sure that it would create a thin tear should his ward collapse violently.

Tapping into his primal core, Hawke withdrew only the tiniest bit and began weaving it carefully into the Fade construct.

"Oh Maker... good, that's very good, Hawke. I guess it's safe to take more."

He only saw the energy currents flow in a wild spectacle and it was tempting to open his eyes to see what had Neria so breathless but he didn't dare to. This was only their second try as the first had determined that Neria may be brilliant in theory but not so much in practice.

Hawke set some more pure lightning free, listening to her gasping. "Amazing. Let's leave it at that for the moment."

He opened his eyes and blinked, trying to take in all at once. The former colourless ward was now an intricate pattern of arcing lightning and shimmering light, forming a beautiful but lethal weapon should one pass through.

"Now to try to hide it from view," Hawke said slowly, going through the plan in his head once again. This shouldn't be too difficult either but too much self-confidence had killed greater man. Making sure that he had not only good but perfect control of his element, Hawke focussed on the Fade once again. It had changed only marginally but it proved their thesis nonetheless: The longer the ward was activated, the more the elemental energy would draw upon its Fade construct to power itself even further. As a consequence the construct would slowly disintegrate until there was none left.

Hawke strengthened the existing frame further and proceeded to mould some more Fade energy, weaving it tightly around all the elemental currents until they couldn't be seen anymore.

And like that the ward was completely invisible to every eye but a mage's. But...

"I can't see the primal energy at all," Neria sounded baffled "That's incredible! All I can see is the Fade frame. Ingenious!"

Hawke smiled wanly at her excitement. "The ward has an expiry date. We were right, the element burns its way through the Fade energy, powering itself."

Neria glanced at him, mouth half open. "So that means..."

"Sooner or later it will become visible again and a bit later only the elemental energy will remain. But I'd wager a guess that it takes a few hours, maybe days for this construct to vanish completely." Hawke moved a hand over his eyes, keeping his mental ones under tight control.

"Well," Neria said, sinking onto Hawke's bed. They had had to use the mage chambers because of the precarious nature of their research. No doubt the templars would have cast them down with a Holy Smite almost immediately had they done this in the library.

"Of course the ward itself is stronger than what the caster initially aimed for. How destructive it would be, Hawke, if you had given away all your primal power? I don't dare imagine!" But telling from her thrilled behaviour she did. Hawke frowned instead.

"It means that I will never use such a ward lightly, Neria," he replied quietly, staring into her hazel eyes. "Because it would be fatal if anyone triggered it."

His elven companion grimaced. "Maker, have some fun, Hawke." Then she sighed. "But you're sensible. And right. I think it might be enough to blast an entire castle off the face of Thedas."  
>Hawke closed his eyes and began to dismantle the small ward. He really didn't want to think about the damage a fully powered ward could cause, especially powered by his abnormally large mana.<p>

Layer to layer he tore down very carefully and within seconds, the ward was gone.

Neria dangled her legs, regarding him expectantly. He sighed and gave in.

"Let's try it again." But smaller. Much, much smaller.


	5. The Cost of Blood

Hawke watched as the apprentice panicked. The fire that had simply flickered unsteadily beforehand, grew now bigger and hotter with each second. He shot a wary look at the bookshelves and took a step back, just in case. Why they let apprentices train fire spells in a room filled with old, definitely burnable parchment was beyond him.

At last, just as the fire started to eat away the carpet and make its way toward the shelves, Senior Enchanter Torrin cast an ice spell and the fire was gone in the blink of an eye.

"You know, in my experience this usually works just as well with flint and tinder. Let's proceed with that, yes?"

The apprentice looked about ready to break down and cry. Now that the spectacle was over, Hawke meant to return to his book – _The Myths of the Fade_ – but Torrin caught his gaze.

_Brilliant_.

"Ah, Hawke! Would you terribly mind fetching us some tinder and flint? I'm afraid the lad isn't quite up for it." Torrin gestured towards the distraught-looking apprentice.

Hawke's lips twitched slightly as he contemplated the Senior Enchanter. Finally he nodded and put down his book.

Why he didn't protest that he was a mage, not an errand-boy? Well, his attitude hadn't changed over the years. Attention drawn to himself was bad. It was enough that everyone knew his name because _hey, that's the apostate they brought in so late – the quickest Harrowing anyone's ever seen, I tell you_!

He passed several templars on his way to the Laboratory where he knew Senior Enchanter Leorah kept such things. Of course he could've just gone to the stockroom to get what he needed from Owain – if he wasn't so unbelievably terrified of the tranquil. Embarrassing, maybe, irrational, certainly, but also very, very real. Even Anders had commented on his stubborn avoidance of these soulless people and the blonde wasn't exactly the most observant bird of the flock.

The Laboratory was all but empty: The few mages who'd been in there were leaving just as he entered. This was not unusual; what was, however, was that Senior Enchanter Leorah wasn't at her post, making potions and preparing herbs so that they would remain fresh for several days. Hawke sighed heavily. Her absence meant also that he would have to rummage through every cupboard, shelf and cabinet because in the years he'd lived in the Tower, he'd rarely come to the Laboratory.

With a look at all the storage units Hawke heaved another heavy sigh. What he didn't do for the sake of being regarded as harmless.

He pulled out drawer after drawer, opened cabinet doors and found everything except what he was looking for. Finally there was only one closet left. With a few long strides a slowly but surely irritated Hawke stood in front of it and threw the doors open.

A woman shrieked and Hawke stopped dead, eyebrows nearly vanishing into his hairline and it took every ounce of control to keep from openly gaping.

The woman's - he recognised her as Petra - face was furiously red as she desperately clutched the robe to her chest, attempting to cover herself. Anders didn't do much better, using his own clothing to hide behind, looking more embarrassed than Hawke had ever seen him before. "Andraste's tits..."

He raised a hand, passing it over his eyes as he tried to forget the picture that seemed to have burnt itself into his retina. It stuck. Very stubbornly.

He took a step backwards, cleared his throat. "Flint and tinder," he demanded without looking at either of them. There was a brief, confused silence, then Hawke heard shuffling.

"Here." Anders obviously tried very hard to sound nonchalant but his voice was just a tad too high for that to be true. Hawke chanced a very quick glance up, snatched the things out of Anders's hand.

Before one of them could say another word, he closed the doors into their humiliated faces, knowing that his own must resemble a tomato.

He turned on his heels and strolled out of the Laboratory, confirming his thoughts from beforehand.

_Pathetic what I do to be regarded as harmless._

Hawke and Anders never spoke about that little encounter but it took weeks for them to be able to look each other in the eye again. And the picture stuck.

_**-DEAR TO ME –**_

One year later, the last thing Anders had expected when he'd woken up that morning, was that Hawke would barge in just after dinner, wide-eyed, breathing heavily and white as a sheet. He'd never seen his friend so – well, emotional and it was disconcerting, certainly enough to get his full attention. Urgently Hawke grabbed his forearms and leaned in close, so that his lips touched Anders's ear. Another baffling aspect, as he was normally very deliberate with touch. Before Anders could comment however, Hawke uttered the very words that shook him to the core. Proud, independent Hawke was the last from whom he'd expected them.

"_Help me_."

As it stood, Anders simply replied: "Of course."

Hawke looked over his shoulder, the haunted look in his eyes so familiar it hurt. Once he'd determined that they were alone in the mage's chambers, he let go of Anders and breathed deeply.

"Those years before, when you asked me about my family..." Hawke didn't meet his gaze. "I didn't give you an answer."

Anders blinked, a little perplexed. The other continued almost immediately, intent on finishing his story, if the quickening speed of his speech was anything to go by.

"The truth is, I was captured because I gave them the opportunity to flee. You see, my father and sister both are mages." Now Hawke looked up and Anders swallowed at the intensity in those piercing, turquoise eyes. "I would do _anything_ to keep them safe."

Anders watched as Hawke began to pace, looking quite maniacal as he wrung his hands, eyes darting around the room without pause. Then, all of a sudden, Hawke stopped and stared at him. "They got my sister."

Anders's eyes widened. Hawke's face seemed to blanch even more as he said it, as if reality just sank in. His breath hitched. "I saw them dragging her in just now, Anders. I need to get her out of here before they can make a phylactery for her – that's the only chance she's got to get out of here unharmed." And then he repeated his former statement, face glowing feverishly: "I would do _anything_ to keep her safe."

Anders wetted his lips. "So you want me to help her break out of here."

Hawke's jaw muscle twitched as he bridged the gap between them with two long strides, grasping Anders's arms once again. "Please, Anders! I know it's too much to ask, I know what would await you, what the consequences are but I can't... I can't..."

He floundered for a moment in which Anders tried to get over his shock to hear Hawke plead.

"I can't do this alone," Hawke admitted finally, sounding forlorn as well as desperately angry. Anders took a deep breath, shaking his head. "Of course I'll help you but we'll have to plan quickly. Her Harrowing may not take very long if yours was anything to go by."

Hawke's lips thinned. "What did you have planned for your next escape?"

Not _if_ but _what_. Anders blinked but didn't hesitate. "The shutter for clothing. Leads right down into the basement and from there, a door leads outside. Why I don't know but it's perfect."

Hawke paced in front of him, looking more alive than Anders had ever seen.

"Might work," the mage murmured, "But we'll need a distraction. A big one." There was a dangerous glint in his eyes that made Anders wary. He fidgeted in his seat.

"Careful," he said, thinking that it was a truly sad day when _he_ gave advice of caution to anyone, "Too much and you won't see light again. Ever."

Hawke's face darkened and Anders found himself subjected to a cutting gaze. He didn't flinch, staring right back, imploring. Hawke's jaw twitched.

"I would give _anything_ to keep her safe, Anders," Hawke snarled, repeating himself as if he was still waiting for Anders to understand the significance of the statement.

Anders sighed in frustration. "Alright, I'll leave that part to you. I'm just saying that solitary confinement is a real possibility if you overdo it." That was one punishment he had yet to live through, thankfully. When Hawke just gave him another sharp look, he raised his hands in defeat. Instead he said: "The best moment to snatch her will be right in front of Great Hall. Plenty of room in there to make a ruckus and the escape way is just around the corner. We'll just have to make this quick."

"Just quick," Hawke repeated, stopping in his pacing and turning towards Anders. "There aren't usually any templars near the shutter, are there?"

Anders shook his head. "And if you make your distraction very... well, distracting, there are guaranteed to be none."

Hawke nodded. "I won't take any chances." And it sounded like a vow. Anders couldn't shake the uneasiness that crept over him.

"Alright," he said, shaking his head to get rid of the feeling. "I'll collect a few things to keep us going. Meet you there, Hawke."

The other nodded sharply and left without another word. Anders sighed.

"Andraste's tits... what have you gotten yourself into this time?"

_**-DEAR TO ME –**_

Hawke's hands wouldn't stop shaking. He balled them into fists, hiding them behind his back as he stood next to the entrance of the Great Hall. Anders stood right in front of him, keeping up their pretence of casual small talk. Dinner wasn't that long ago that two lingering mages would get more than the odd watchful look.

Hawke glanced inside the Hall for a moment. There were very few mages left inside and he was glad; making a distraction big enough to attract every templar in the vicinity wouldn't get easy when he had to make do with harmless lightshows. Anders eyes were wary when he meet them, but also determined. Hawke still felt uneasy with how much he had to trust the mage but it wasn't like he had a choice, wasn't it? If he wanted to get Bethany out he had to rely on Anders – in other words, he had to do the exact same thing he'd said he'd never do. Ironic.

He took a deep breath and looked down the corridor. He froze. There they were, two templars on either side of her. He met Anders's eyes and gave a small, imperceptible nod before he pushed himself away from the wall and entered the Great Hall.

He only hoped that he could prevent the templar long enough from smiting him.

_One chance. Don't fuck this up._


	6. Solus Eris

**A/N: **After months, finally another update. For those who actually read this: I'm sorry, inspiration just didn't hit D:

Thanks for the reviews I got so far!

* * *

><p><em>He felt their eyes on him. Usually their stares didn't faze him all that much but in that exact moment, knowing what depended on him, he fought to keep his calm. His hands trembled. <em>You need to free Bethany,_ he reminded himself sharply,_ nothing else matters.

_Suddenly his nervousness vanished. His hands stilled and he raised his head, looking back to the entrance right as Bethany and her guards passed. Anders hovered in the background, giving him a tight-lipped smile and a nod. He let out a quiet breath, stopping right next to his assigned table - at the moment unoccupied – and decided in a split second what he would do. When Neria and he had contemplated this during their experiments, they hadn't agreed on whether or not it would work. Be that as it may, it was his best shot at distracting the templars on duty long enough for Anders to play his part._

He opened his eyes; it didn't make a difference, the darkness around him stayed the same. He couldn't even make out a hand in front of his eyes but he sat up nonetheless, relying on his sense of touch .

_When the templars finally caught wind of what he was doing, it was already too late. They rushed forward, casting one Holy Smite after another but his gamble paid off. He could see the Holy Smites eating away on the strong Fade constructs of his Ward but he'd infused them with too much power to actually shatter under the destructive forces. If he blew up this Ward, he had no doubt that there wouldn't be one stone of this Tower left._

_One of the templars barked an order. "Get the Knight Commander!" _

_He knew then, that he had been successful without doing much damage. But what if? What if some templars had remained outside to keep order? He couldn't risk it. He had to do something more drastic to draw every potential reinforcement inside._

He knew that there was a window in his cell somewhere so it had to be night. How long had he been out? Impossible to tell.

_He called one of his favoured elements to his fingers, the chilling sensation reassuringly familiar. He created a tiny hole at the top of his ward and focussed, pushing power out like he had never done before – had always been too careful, always been too considerate, had never had a cause to do serious damage. Now though every surface was covered with a layer of ice that was several centimetres thick. His Ward protected him from what had to be a vicious cold but the templars weren't quite as lucky: He could see them shivering in their armour, trying to break free as ice crawled up their legs, encasing them, trapping them. The screams were loud but nobody rushed in to save them and he was satisfied._

He sat until the sun rose and brought merciful light into his cell. He raised hands shackled with mana-suppressing handcuffs and used the nail he had pried loose from his bed on the first day of his imprisonment to carve a line into the wall. Maybe he'd been asleep for more than one day but he decided he would count only one.

Thirty lines.

_He could feel the drain from upholding the severely overpowered Ward. If he'd known that Anders and Bethany had made it out yet, he would have simply given the construct an energy reserve and waited until it ran out. As it was he needed to do it manually._

_He could pinpoint the exact second the Knight Commander arrived. A wave of relief seemed to crash through the hall at the sight of the most powerful templar in the Tower. _

_At first Greagoir looked aghast, then a kind of angry calm settled over him. Hawke saw the Commander's lips move but he didn't listen, didn't respond even when he was quite sure that he'd just been asked a question. _

Just a while later the door creaked. Hawke chanced a glance away from the window he'd been staring through but it was just the usual templar bringing his usual disgusting food. There were no words exchanged and the templar vanished as quickly as he had come.

Hawke uncurled from his stiff position, stretched and winced when several joints popped. He pulled the food tray closer. Gross though it may be, it sustained him.

_They brought another mage – he thought her name was Irena – and had her melt the ice under strict supervision. She glanced at him several times and he was caught off guard by her glowing eyes and small smiles. By the time she was finished, Hawke knew that he was dangerously close to exhausting his mana core. If Anders hadn't managed escaping until now, Hawke decided that he likely wouldn't. He stopped his flux of energy, breathed in deeply and sat down with a quiet _thump_. The templars around him twitched, making him smile wanly. _

_Just as they escorted Irena out of the hall, his Ward failed. They were on him in a matter of seconds._

Swallowing the last bite Hawke pushed the tray as far away as he could in this tiny cell and began his usual training routine, exercising muscles he didn't want to lose. He would prevail in the end.

"_I should have expected nothing else," Greagoir snarled, banging a fist on the table. The crash made several newly trained templars twitch. Hawke, however, didn't so much as blink, restrained though he was. They had cuffed him with magic-suppressing shackles as soon as they got their hands on him and now he was surrounded by many very irate templars. The only other mage present was Irving, seeing as it was his study they were in._

_The First Enchanter regarded him with unreadable eyes. Hawke was sure that it would have been wise to avoid those eyes but somehow he found himself staring apathetically at the man._

The sun stood high on the sky by the time Hawke stopped and rested his protesting muscles. He was sweaty and he knew that the next short 'bath' was days away but he had bigger problems. Hawke was a solitary person by nature, he enjoyed the quiet, he was fine on his own.

_Greagoir's face was a grimace. "I say the verdict shall be death, Irving. He is highly dangerous and it's already proven that we can't control him."_

_Irving shook his head, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers. Hawke felt his intent gaze on him, yet he refused to acknowledge him once more._

"_That would be wasting talent, Greagoir."_

_Greagoir's eyes narrowed. "What do you suggest, First Enchanter?"_

"_Solitary confinement."_

_Those two words were enough to send shivers down Hawke's spine and he raised his head imperceptibly. Solitary confinement. Confined. Caged. _

_Once again he found that he was less afraid of dying than he was of surviving. _

But no one, not even the worst loner, would be able to enjoy solitary confinement. There was the boredom on one hand – the total lack of stimulation, nothing to occupy the brain – but also the small space on the other. Hawke had gotten somewhat used to being in a cage, yet no one could dispute that the Tower was a much more generously measured cage than this cell. He could cross it with one step in width and two in length and after a good month, he already felt the impact on his mind. He was twitchy, quick to panic and found it hard to breathe most of the time.

When the sun was about to set some hours later, another meal was delivered and Hawke wolfed it down as quickly as possible before climbing onto the uncomfortable bed. As he waited for sleep to claim him, his fingers slid over the thirty scratches he had made.

Thirty down. Three hundred and thirty-five days to go.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **'Solus Eris' is latin and means 'you will be alone'. Quite fitting.

Please review and tell me if you want some more glimpses into Hawke's time in solitary confinement or if I should move forwards - either way, information about his time in that cell is going to make it into the story.


	7. Custodia

**A/N: **This is a surprisingly quick update and I hope that I don't disappoint anyone with how I've decided to handle this whole 'confinement-issue'. It will come up at later points in this story, rest assured.

* * *

><p><em>Thirty-nine.<em>

Sometime in the last days Hawke seemed to have lost his ability to concentrate properly. He tried, time and again, but his thoughts fought against him, his mind unable to fixate on anything and soon he gave up trying. Instead he lay on his bed, staring at nothing and thinking of everything. It was around that time when the walls began to close in on him.

_Sixty_.

His emotional control burst into a thousand pieces. His mood changed like the weather and it was tiring, exhausting even, to keep up with it. He felt lethargic enough to wish for death but in the next moment there was hot, hot anger in his veins and he had to fist his hands to keep from trying to demolish his bed. _Calm down_, he told himself desperately.

_One hundred and twenty_.

It was when he could no longer control his anger that the voices began to whisper to him. _Go ahead, _they told him_, if you are quick enough, you can get past the templar delivering your food. You have to try it. Go on. Go ahead._

He knew that they were demons, his alarms had gone off at the slightest touch, and his training made him resilient even now. But if their requests sounded more reasonable every time he heard them, he ignored it. He would prevail.

_One hundred and eighty_.

The hallucinations had started some time ago but they were getting much more frequent. In the beginning he was very aware that they weren't real. Later, when Bethany smiled at him and affectionately scolded him, Carver challenged him to a fist fight, his father tousled his hair and his mother enveloped him with all of her maternal love, it was getting difficult to remind himself of that.

Some of those hallucinations were demon-induced and it was easy to root those out, maybe even easier than it should have been for someone that had spent so many days in isolation. Hawke took some comfort from it and thought that perhaps he wouldn't lose his mind over this. He continued exercising even though it seemed unnecessary.

_Two hundred and forty_.

Sometimes he paced in the cell like a madman, walking for hours on end, only stopping when his feet hurt so much he couldn't ignore it any longer. Other days he sat on his bed without moving once, staring out of the tiny window, trying to remember every little bit of his life. It was getting progressively more difficult to do so. _Worrying_, he thought detachedly.

_Three hundred_.

It wasn't a demon that spoke to him but he couldn't quite decide what else it could be. A spirit maybe? Father had talked about benevolent spirits in the Fade. It was enough to bring Hawke a little bit out of his madness.

_You're stronger than this,_ the serene voice told him warmly and there was the sensation of a motherly caress, a light petting of his hair.

He blinked and shivered as the image of a small Carver next to him vanished abruptly. _So much stronger than this. _

Recovering a bit of his sanity was a painfully slow progress but the gentle voice offered encouragement. When some clarity returned to him after weeks, he felt his lips twitch a little.

The next time he actually noticed the templar bringing him food, he looked straight at the man, watching every action very closely. In the face of the templar's nervous retreat, he outright smirked.

_Three hundred and sixty-five_.

Hawke could tell that Greagoir was _this_ close to losing his cool.

It was obvious what the Knight-Commander had hoped to find once the year was over and it was also quite evident that it wasn't what he found.

Hawke imagined that most of Greagoir's prisoners were so mad in the end, they didn't even recognise him. Maybe they didn't react to his appearance at all and his templars had to drag them out of the cell. That certainly was how he would have ended up without help, without _hope_. Hawke felt raw and weak even with the invaluable support, a strain on his mind that stemmed from too much darkness, too much living in a cage. His hands shook ever so slightly and his breath came too fast.

Greagoir, however, saw only the lucid, mostly unaffected mage who, aside from an unhealthy paleness and dark circles under his eyes, looked absolutely fine – because that was what Hawke wanted him to see.

"Come on then," Greagoir barked after a moment of utter silence. Hawke couldn't help but flinch slightly at those loud, first words he heard in a year.

He shuffled forwards, got off the bed and cleared his throat but didn't trust himself to make a cocky remark. He had no doubts that his voice would be scratchy and rough once he tried to say something so he settled for simply smirking at Greagoir as he passed the Knight-Commander. Two templars promptly flanked him and hooked chains into the massive handcuffs.

The walk was a long, silent and uncomfortable one. Hawke could feel the stares that bore into his back but he could ignore them in the face of what was to come. Freedom was but a few steps away, finally within his reach. Even with the longing that urged him to climb the stairs faster, he could appreciate the irony of what he judged to be freedom now. Sad as it was, even though the Tower was just another cage, it was a bigger one and at the moment, that was good enough.

There, the door was within sight. Hawke swallowed. The need to feel his magic again was very prominent now, prickling in his hurting veins. He'd never known that keeping a mage from accessing or even feeling his magic would be so painful, outright agonising at times. He knew now and _Maker_, he hoped that he would never have to endure it again.

The templars at his side kept his pace slow, restraining him with the chains and he would have loved to snarl at them.

They came to a stop in front of the door; the Knight-Commander came forward with the key and then Hawke had to squint because there was more light than he had grown used to.

The First Enchanter awaited them in the hall; normally there would be lots of other mages and apprentices scurrying around but today there was no one around.

Irving's eyes were coolly appraising. Hawke thought that he saw a small flash of anxiety but it was gone the next moment.

He had to strip down because they insisted on checking him for any signs that he had succumbed to blood magic during his imprisonment. He couldn't take off his top entirely because of the handcuffs but no one was yet willing to rid him of them so he made do.

The Knight-Commander's lips tightened until they were but a white line in his face when it became clear that he had no suspicious, fresh scars.

"I think you will agree that he's no blood mage, Greagoir," Irving said, having warmed up immensely as soon as the verdict had fallen. "Let the lad change and get reacquainted with his fellow mages."

Suspicion marred every line of Greagoir's face but even he was forced to relent. His handcuffs were taken off and his magic rushed back almost violently, yet all he felt was a pleasure beyond words. Hawke might have gasped at the sensation and he rubbed his arms, relishing the power that thrummed just beneath the skin, aware of the watchful glances.

He was given his old mage robes, as yellow and ugly as ever but somehow still the most beautiful sight.

As the robe slipped over his skin and he buckled the belt around the waist, Hawke felt better than he had in a long time.

With a last look at the group of templars, a quietly seething Greagoir and an oddly content looking Irving, he made his way through the abandoned hall and slipped through the door at the other end. At once the buzz of Tower life could be heard and Hawke took a couple of deep breaths, allowing himself to let go of the perfectly normal facade he'd shown. Almost at once he felt his shoulders slump a little, the shaking of his hands returned anew.

He closed his eyes and once again rubbed his wrists, feeling as if the handcuffs hadn't yet come off completely. It would probably take a while for that to fade.

For now he would find Anders – assuming that he was even in the Tower – and Esanne. He wouldn't ever tell them how much he had missed them.

* * *

><p><strong>I<strong>f it seems like Hawke hasn't been damaged by the experience - wrong. As mentioned above, there'll be several instances where we will see that later on.


	8. Impretationes

**AN: As I can't remember the exact dialogue from the game and am not playing it while writing just to get in right, I'll improvise. Meaning you (mostly) won't read the same lines from the game in in-game situations... keyword being "mostly". **

* * *

><p>Hawke wasn't one to present his feelings freely to anyone. He couldn't pinpoint the exact time when he'd begun to close himself off – because believe it or not, he used to be quite the loud, open child – but he guessed that it had been around the time when Bethany and Carver were old enough to understand the constant danger the whole family was in. He did it to give them an anchor, a source of reassurance and years later he took pride in the fact that he was all but unreadable even to his own mother.<p>

And then... well, then there came Anders.

"Calm down," Anders suddenly said, breaking the silence. Hawke, who imitated a statue quite well in his absolute motionlessness, quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I'm calm."

Anders snorted. "Right. About as calm as Esanne right now, I imagine. Seriously, she's going to be fine."

"I know."

The openly disbelieving look he was given rankled Hawke because Anders was completely right and there should have been no indicators for his nervousness. He sent him a decidedly unimpressed look and sniffed at the innocuous smile he got in return.

For a few minutes, neither one of them spoke. Then Anders asked: "What are you so scared about anyway? She's strong enough if they sent for her already."

Hawke crossed his arms and leaned back against the cool stone wall, contemplating what to tell him. This was Anders, the one who had succeeded in getting his sister out safely, the only one who had acted completely normal when Hawke had gotten out of solitary. A friend, maybe even someone Hawke would like to trust.

"Demons are tricky business," he finally said quietly. "I know that Bethany would have had a hard time with the Harrowing because she's much too trusting. Esanne... she's just like her."

Anders didn't reply immediately. He guessed that the healer hadn't expected a serious answer – or any answer at all.

Hawke looked down the empty hallway and noted that even the templars were absent. He hadn't really paid attention while hastening to the entrance of the Templar Quarters to wait for news of Esanne. That lack of guards wasn't so unusual, though: When a Harrowing took place, the Knight-Commander often took plenty of his templars as a precaution.

"She'll make it," Anders finally said with such conviction Hawke couldn't help but want to believe him. When he got no answer, Anders sighed and copied Hawke's stance.

"Even I know that she's capable. She won't succumb."

Hawke felt his lips twitch at the grudging tone.

"Hark, hark," he replied dryly. "I guess this is the moment that the Maker returns to the Black City, yes?"

Anders made a face at him. "Oh shut up."

He chuckled quietly and his forced nonchalance turned more natural. They shared a few moments of comfortable silence. When he spoke again, it was of even more serious matters.

"Uldred and Wynne got sent to Ostagar today, did you hear?"

Anders nodded, straightening from his slouch. "Sure did. I guess that means that this Blight business is reality."

Hawke shrugged in a 'I guess' kind of way. "Greagoir's not happy about letting so many mages go down there, I know that much."

The blond grinned. "What a surprise."

Hawke didn't get the chance to snort in agreement. The door to the Templar Quarters swung open with a quiet creaking noise that made him spin around faster than he could think.

Esanne hadn't been brought up there that long ago and usually Harrowings took more time than this. So either she had exceeded his expectations or... his stomach turned.

It was like something heavy had been lifted off his shoulders when he saw a very pale, unconscious but _breathing_, _living_ Esanne in the arms of one of the newer recruits (Cullen, his mind supplied helpfully).

Cullen nodded at the two waiting mages, looking slightly awkward and discomfited by the whole situation. Hawke wasn't surprised to find a certain amount of trepidation aimed at him: Many of the novice templars were wary around him because of his solitary confinement – or rather, the actions that got him the punishment. Though it had happened quite some time ago, no templar seemed likely to forget that anytime soon.

He let Cullen pass without a word and allowed himself to slump in relief for one short second before he pushed himself away from the wall.

"Anders," he murmured as the two of them also headed down the hallway. He felt Anders's expectant eyes upon him and breathed out in a sigh. "Thank you."

"Anytime, Hawke."

_**- DEAR TO ME –**_

Neria had undergone dramatic changes in personality and not in the good way. Where she had once only openly voiced her opinions on the fraternities, she now tried to convert everybody to the Libertarian party. Her manic passion was what made the younger apprentices scared of her, her uncompromising outbursts guaranteed her the wariness of all the older mages.

Hawke found that he grew tired of her company very quickly and when he decided upon taking up his research into the Fade once again, he preferred to do so alone.

Worse still, it was absolutely his fault. In private, Anders had told him in a quiet voice that Neria had taken the news of his imprisonment even worse than Esanne and her hate for the templars and the Tower as a whole had grown ever stronger since. Frankly, her behaviour verged on crazy.

Guilt was an emotion Hawke was very well acquainted with and it seemed that now he had another person to feel guilty about.

Maybe even worse than causing Neria's madness was the fact that he didn't regret a thing. As cold-hearted as it sounded, Bethany was more important to him than Neria or Esanne would ever be. Sometimes he even believed himself when he thought that.

Hawke looked up only briefly from his drafts when someone sat next to him in the library. Neria's hard hazel eyes met his. He mumbled a vague greeting that she didn't return.

As he contemplated which one of his ideas to jot down next, she spoke.

"I don't know how you can just do nothing." Neria's voice was full of disdain and yet pleading. "You know firsthand how cruel they can be and look at you! Sitting in here and playing the part of the uninvolved party marvellously!"

Hawke dipped the quill's tip into the ink and resumed his writing as though he hadn't heard her. Neria wasn't put off at all.

"With Uldred gone, we need even more support, Hawke, or the other fraternities won't heed us. You could be such an asset, your word is respected around here! And I know how much you love studying what's never been studied before, our Wards are proof of that. Just think about all the things the Chantry forbids us from studying because it is misunderstood. Take blood magic for example-"

The quill broke. Hawke looked up at her with a blank face and took in the madness that he had caused with a feeling of nausea in his gut.

"Neria," he said coolly, "Shut your mouth."

She glared at him, baring her teeth. "Am I threatening your ideas about this Tower? Maker knows you've never seemed to hate it as much as an apostate should. Got comfortable in your cage, _Hawke_?"

Sudden anger made his magic spike hazardously but he quelled the emotion as quickly as he could. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a templar start towards them, no doubt having felt the outburst.

"It'd be best if you left now, Neria," Hawke all but ordered, voice dangerously low. She sniffed but she disappeared without another word.

The templar made sure that she had really left, sent him a suspicious glare and then returned to his post. Hawke looked at his ruined quill and sighed. He had no spare with him so it seemed his studies had to wait a bit longer. Lunch would be soon anyway and he decided to go see if Esanne was awake yet.

_**- DEAR TO ME –**_

"Jowan, no. You know the rules, I'm not allowed to say anything."

Esanne's exasperated voice was what finally led Hawke to the Apprentice Quarters. It was kind of pathetic that he'd been living in the Tower for years now and still got lost sometimes. But he wouldn't tell anyone _ever_ so no-one would be the wiser.

He stuck his head through the open door and scanned the hall.

"Come on, _please_? I just... well I want to know for when it's time for my Harrowing. _If_ there will be a Harrowing for me."

Finding them wasn't difficult. There were few other apprentices in the sleeping quarters and it turned out that Esanne's bed was in the foremost part of the room. Hawke slowed his steps, however, when he heard Jowan's whining, perking up his ears considerably.

"What do you mean?" He could see Esanne's still slightly irritated but mostly confused face. She looked a lot healthier than before and lunch would probably bring back the rosiness of her cheeks.

Jowan looked around surreptitiously, succeeding only in making himself look suspicious.

"I'll tell you later, alright?" the apprentice had lowered his voice so that Hawke could barely make out his words but almost immediately, he returned to normal volume.

Deciding that the secret part was over, Hawke sped up his steps again.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Irving wanted to see you as soon as you awoke – best not keep him waiting!"

"He can wait a bit longer, I'm sure," Hawke interrupted smoothly, pulling Esanne into a tight hug and ignoring the fact that he just didn't do that. He wasn't the touching type. It still felt right and he would have done the exact same thing if she were Bethany.

If Esanne was surprised she didn't show it: Her arms went around him immediately and she returned the hug with a fierceness that made him want to smile.

Jowan cleared his throat, mumbled something incomprehensible and took his leave so fast it seemed like flight. Hawke watched him until he left the room.

"Guess I'm sitting at your table from now on," Esanne said with her face pressed into his shoulder. The statement was just so pure _Esanne_ that Hawke didn't resist smiling any longer.

"Yup," he replied, arms tightening a fraction, "Welcome to the club." _I'm proud of you. I'm glad you're okay. I was so worried._

He didn't voice any of it.

Esanne chuckled quietly, not protesting against his hold. _I know. I'm alright. I'm still here._

She didn't voice any of it.

Hawke finally let go and made sure to wipe the smile off his face in the process. Esanne sighed and rubbed her face. "I really should go see the First Enchanter," she said in a tone that said it all about her enthusiasm to do exactly that. Hawke smirked.

"Probably. See you at lunch, mage?"

She smiled at him. "Save me a seat."


End file.
